


But no one hears me

by jamesraoulsilva



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Persuasion - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-30
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2017-12-28 02:10:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/986419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamesraoulsilva/pseuds/jamesraoulsilva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When James Bond finally meets Severine's employer, his approach isn't what James expects. Not world domination, not a crazy lunatic fighting for some insane cause, but something more genuine. Without a name, the blond man tries to convince him. Make a trade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**But no one hears me**

Apprehended by a couple of henchmen, he is dragged into a room. It looks like a cathedral but the interior is as opposite as it can get – rows and rows of servers, neatly arranged, yet the wires are a tangible mess. It raises questions about its owner, but right now James Bond is not that concerned with the owner’s personal tastes; he tries to fight back, but the men roughly push him into a chair and quickly secure his wrists behind the backrest.

Meanwhile, the blond owner is standing in another room, looking in a mirror. He’s putting on his cream-coloured dinner jacket, one hand ruffling his hair until he’s content; he knows exactly what kind of impression he wants to make and everything has to be perfect for his guest, his captive. He is feeling a bit nervous and that feeling makes him uneasy, because he hasn’t felt anything like it in years. He tells himself it’s not _that_ important but apparently he isn’t that good of a liar because he doesn’t believe himself.

The henchmen move towards the end of the room. The captive looks around – _one door, one elevator, fourteen rows of windows_ – so that makes sixteen possible escape routes. For a while he toys with the idea of overpowering the henchmen but at least one of them carries a machine gun, an HK MP7A1 by the look of it, so he decides to keep still and wait.

The blond straightens his jacket and drums his fingers on his thigh, wondering whether it’s time to say hello yet.

After a few seconds he gets into the lift, pressing the button that will bring him to the ground floor. As he’s slowly descending – into madness, he adds in his mind – he’s wondering what he’s going to say. After all this time, he has to improvise.

Patience isn’t the captive’s strongest suit – he curls his fingers into fists as he watches the lift descending, the harsh rope tightening and digging into his skin – and when the lift doors slide open he immediately focuses on the man in front of him. He’s tall, tanned, blond and handsome, wearing expensive clothing and when he starts speaking…

“Hello James. Do you like the island?”

…his voice sounds attractive. He drags out the vowels, rich, deep, pleasant.

James makes the effort to sit upright, despite himself, and looks at the man, who is slowly approaching the chair he’s sitting on.

“My grandmother had an island, nothing to boast off.” The blond man waves his hand around, placing one foot in front of the other, slowly. “You could walk along it in an hour. But for us, it was paradise. We went for a visit one day and discovered the place had been _infested_ with rats.”

James raises one eyebrow, listening but not really listening. He’s intrigued by the man’s behaviour. The blond keeps talking.

“And how do you get rid of rats?” He keeps walking, not waiting for an answer. “My grandmother showed me. We buried an oil drum and hinged the lid. The rats would come for the coconut and one by one... They fall into the trap. Then you’ve trapped all the rats, but what would you do then?” He pauses a moment, seems lost in his thoughts.

“Throw the drum into the ocean?” He shakes his head, “Burn it? No,” he drags out. “You just _leave_ it. And they begin to get hungry, one by one...” The blond mimicks a masticating sound, trying to provoke a reaction from the other man, who looks up, his face still indifferent. “They start eating each other.” James quickly looks down. “Until there are only two left, the two survivors.”

The blond looks down at the man in front of him, his voice dark and dangerous and _captivating_ – “And what do you do then, kill them? No, you take them and release them back into the trees. But now, they don’t eat coconut anymore. Now they only eat rat.” He spits the word out, like an ugly thing to get rid of, not conforming to his earlier way of speaking.

“You have changed their nature.” And suddenly this speech becomes personal – it’s an attack, a promise, an opportunity. “The two survivors, this is what she made us.”

 “I made my own choices, “ James responds slowly, looking up.

The man smiles back at him, it looks like a genuine smile but it’s not. It’s baring his teeth, challenging him, opposing him, having a difference of opinion. “That’s what she makes you think, that’s her genius.”

James pauses, observing the man in front of him, taking in his extravagant clothes, the blond hair which doesn’t quite fit with the rest of his appearance. It certainly seems the man made a point of being unique; up to the point he doesn’t fit with the rest of the world and becomes just _different_.

“Station H, am I right?” James allows himself to meet the man’s eyes, that are observing him. While the blond looks flashy, the spy looks bad. The events leading up to this meeting surely must’ve worn him out – the blond feels a spark of jealousy when he remembers that used to be his own life.

“Hmm-mm.” He smiles and nods. “Eighty-six to ninety-seven. Back then, I was her favourite. And you’re not nearly the agent I was... I can tell you that.” The blond grins, feeling better after that quip. James grins back, however, looking down, eyebrows slightly raised. “No, of course not,” he sarcastically retorts.

The blond shakes his head, looking at the man in front of him again, eyes gliding over his features. “Just look at you,” he says slowly, “Barely held together by your pills and your drink.”

“And don’t forget my pathetic love of country,” James quickly adds, his head turns to the side slightly.

At that, the blond’s grin widens and answers, “You’re still clinging to your faith in that old woman. When all she does is _lie_ to you.”

“She never lied to me.” James’ voice is stern.

“No?”

“No.”

“What did you score on your marksmanship evaluation?” The blond asks, an annoyed look on his face.

James looks at him, his eyes flashing. “That’s none of your business.”

The blond’s eyes narrow; he’s defending himself, interestingly enough. Maybe he doesn’t trust her completely, then.

“No?” The blond asks, regardless.

“I don’t think so,” James replies, the corners of his lips turning upwards, looking at the extravagant man defiantly.

The blond is done. He smiles back and says coldly, “You’re pathetic. Forty.”

“Seventy,” is the immediate response, James’ eyes flashing. He is leaning forward in the chair, the rope digging into his skin, the pain writhing under his skin but his anger gets in the way, anger directed at the man in front of him who knows just _too much_ of him, poking at his weak spots.

“Did she tell you that you passed the tests?” the blond asks regardless, eyeing the man’s movements.

“Yes.” James looks the blond dead in the eye.

“No. No.” The man picks up a chair and sits down in front of him, sighing slightly when he is seated. “You failed, you failed, you failed.” His face hardens before he spits again, the word a single bullet. “Disgusting.”

He pauses a moment, letting the bullet dig his way into the man’s mind, before he adds, “What’s that if not betrayal?”

“The psychologist cleared me for duty.” James looks at the man coldly, deflecting.

The blond cocks one eyebrow, tilting his head to the side. “Pathological rejection of authority based on unresolved childhood trauma, subject is not approved for field duty.” He sounds bored, reciting a list of so-called crimes – James is unimpressed, looking at the blond dispassionately. “And,” the man continues, “Substance and alcohol addiction indicated. Oof.” His eyes narrow, small dark crevices staring at James. “Immediate suspension from duty advised and look; she sent you here, knowing you were not ready, knowing you would likely die.” The blond raises his eyebrows. “Mommy was very bad.”

His voice trembles a little, barely noticeable, but he curses himself for it in his mind. James looks at him from under his lashes, his head turned down slightly. The blond looks back, tracing a trail from his face to his chest with his eyes before he leans forward slightly, his hand moving up to open his blouse. James looks back; his own eyes travelling from his face downwards, like he sees the other man for the first down. He looks at the long, thin fingers as he feels them touching his chest.

The blond is completely focused on the man before him, not noticing his piercing stare. He folds his shirt to the side, revealing the scar. “Oeí,” the man sighs, almost whispering, “look what she’s done to you.”

“Well... she never tied me to a chair.” James eyes him incredulously, wondering what the man is trying to achieve.

“Her loss,” is the distant response. The blond’s fingers trail over James’ chest to the right side, which causes James to try and move away, squirming, his body jerking back, restrained by the chair and the ropes at his back and this mad man in front of him.

“No no no,” the blond stresses, “try to remember your training,” he demands. He softly touches James’ neck, who answers in a slightly trembling voice.

“Are you sure this is about M?” The blond circles his Adam’s apple with those long fingers, eyes focused, but briefly darting up to meet James’ eyes when he mumbles, “It’s about her... and you and me.

James looks back at him with a small smile, eyes defiant. The other man hums, placing his hands on his thighs. James breathes out and then the man starts stroking his thighs and he tries not to react.

“First time for everything, mm?” the blond purrs.

A very sour grin in response. “What makes you think,” James’ voice a half-whisper, saccharine coated with venom, “this is my first time?”

“Oh Mr Bond. We are the last two rats, no?”

“I prefer to be human,” is the gloomy reply, the sour grin still present. The blond grins back, unimpressed, and retorts.

“Well, in _my_ opinion we can either eat each other,” he continues his stroking, “or eat everyone else.”

James has to bite on his lip to prevent a moan and he hates himself for it, his eyes flashing up at the man, who grins, showing his perfectly white teeth and moving his hands upwards; he trails his thumb over the seams of James’ pants, where the legs meet his groin.

A metallic taste of blood as he bites his lip further, his eyes flashing with rage. The blond mumbles, a surprised tone to it but obviously mocking, “don’t tell me you’re not enjoying this.” He suggestively eyes James up and down.

“What is this,” James breathes out, “a call for joining? Come to the dark side, we have candy?”

“Not the dark side, a side of equal minds, James.” The blond’s eyes are a stark contrast to the room around them, appearing to be black, his pupils invisible and James tries to not fall in those appealing pools of darkness.

“Equal?” he responds quickly, too quickly, with a raised eyebrow. “What do you _do_ exactly?”

“Didn’t you listen when I was talking,” the blond snaps, annoyed.

“Acquire information and turn it into something stupendous and awful,” James smiles. This causes the blond to raise his eyebrows.

“Stupendous and awful? Maybe to you, but it’s still true.” He flicks his fingers over James’ groin quickly before keeping his hands still again.

James takes a sharp breath in, leaning back into the chair as much as possible.

The blond eyes his movements, then motions for his henchmen to leave. James tries to turn around and see what’s going on, but his restraints are too tight and he barely sees anything, only the shuffling of feet, the slamming of a door and then silence, while his captor smiles ferociously at him.

“Now… it’s just you and me.”

“Hmm. And?” James grunts as reply.

“Well…” The blond’s hand moves up to stroke James’ neck again, who pretends not to react, but can’t help his pupils from slightly dilating.

“Oh Mr Bond,” the blond sighs, “your body is betraying you. What a boring little game.”

“On a physical level, it is to be expected.”

“Oh? How’s that?”

James looks at the man defiantly, “it’s one thing to want something, but it’s another to need it.”

The blond takes a pause before he mindfully replies. “This island… they left it in a hurry. And every day it reminds me to focus on the essentials-” a swift hand movement “- all I want, is all I need.”

James rolls his eyes slightly and quips, “how charming. Do you always get what you want?”

“I think, I think you know the answer to that.”

“Why, I wanted to ask the man himself.” James keeps staring – not that there’s much he can look at besides the man, sitting in front of him.

“In that case… yes. Does that surprise you?” One raised eyebrow to accompany the words.

James stares back, mockingly, and can’t help himself retorting, “does what surprise me?”

“That I _get what I want_.” The blond emphasizes each word.

“This island… it’s pretty much destroyed, abandoned, slowly decaying. Not exactly Christmas, is it?”

“Oh, it is.” The man smiles at James. “A place for myself… and you.”

“Me?”

“Hmm-mm.”

“Now why would you possibly want me, if I’m in such a wrecked state, as you imply. Or am I another decaying island then?” His eyes are the brightest blue, shining in the light of the room.

The blond looks back, with a stern expression on his face. “I brought you here to show you what it could be like. Creating your own secret missions, not having to listen to those fools from Q Branch.”

“I _came_ here. To find you.” _How much power does he think he has?_

The blond denies him and shakes his head. “I _brought_ you here. To find me.”

“So is this how you treat your guests? I’m tied to a chair, I’ve only seen ruin… So far, I’m afraid I’m not impressed.”

The blond only tuts and moves his hands over James’ pockets, frisking him, to finally pull out the radio. He eyes it, with a grim face, then drops it, looks James dead in the eye and crushes it under his heel. “Oops.”

James only glares back, not saying a word.

His captor suddenly gets up and walks around the chair, leaning over James’ shoulder and whispers into his ear, “I don’t think…” He tightens the ropes even further, making James jerk and almost gasp from the pain in his shoulders. “I don’t think you are in the position to demand anything from me, Mr Bond. Oof.” He adds as an afterthought.

“Go to hell,” James quietly says.

The man audibly breathes out before breathes in James’ neck, “not without you.”

James moves his head away from the words and the sweet breath. “I’m afraid… still not impressed.”

Fumbling with the ropes, the blond unties one wrist, leaving the other bound to the chair, and with an iron grip round the wrist he walks back around. He faces James again, who shortly looks up at him through his lashes and then looks down.

The blond sits down on James’ lap, one knee on each side of the chair, straddling him, and James is taken by surprise and tries to get away, heavily breathing out.

“Shh, easy,” the blond shushes him. James still looks down, almost closes his eyes and tries to relax. “That’s better,” the man on his lap murmurs, “see? It’ll all be easier if you just cooperate with me.”

Ignoring him as much as possible, James finally breathes steadily, his eyes almost completely closed.

His captor breaks his reverie again and asks, in a demanding tone, “tell me. What are you thinking of?”

James still largely ignores him, until he feels one fingernail digging into the dip of his collarbones, at which his eyes fly open and he unwillingly tenses a bit as he also feels the grip around his ‘free’ wrist tightening.

“Tell me.”

He finally looks up at the blond, his eyes defiant as ever, and when he feels a short scratch created by the fingernail and dark eyes staring back into his own, a slow grin creeps on his face.

“Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen.” James slowly pronounces the words. “Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen.”

The blond only stares at him.

“Eighteen, nineteen, twenty.”

The blond rolls his eyes as James’ expression gets more defiant with each number.

“Twenty one.” His lips form a perfect ‘o’ at ‘one’. “Twenty two.”

“When I was trained, they taught us to remember poems, or songs, to repeat. Not numbers. Boring.”

“Twenty three.” One eyebrow raised. “Twenty four.” James licks his lips. The blond leans forward a bit, so they’re almost breathing the same air.

As James keeps slowly counting, a smile starts tugging on the blond’s lips, and just after “thirty” leaves James’ mouth, he asks, thoughtfully, “tell me this then, did you ever know a Vesper Lynd?”

“Thirthy one.” James eyes glare with anger, each syllable is a breath of fire.”

The blond starts laughing.

“Thirty two.” A pause. “She was a lot like you,” James whispers lethally.

“Oh? Do elaborate.”

Despite himself, James has to admit the man plays a great game. Meanwhile the blond fears James Bond proves to be a tougher nut to crack than he had predicted.

“No integrity. Lots of expectations.” These words get accompanied by a wide, dangerous grin, which grows only wider as James adds, “also, thought that fucking me was a way to get to my soul. I presume, you think the same.”

The blond whispers, almost to himself, “take the bloody shot.”

James eyes him for a moment, then responds, “give me a gun and we’ll see. Oh wait…” he adds after a fabricated pause, “to do that one needs to have integrity.” He grins a sour grin, which makes the blond roll his eyes.

“Boring, James. Not what I expected.”

“So,” James starts at the same time, “what about expectations then?”

They’re shooting each other lethal glances when they realise they use the same words – a concern James voices. “Oh see, we’re on the same page even.”

“I told you, we are so much alike.” The blond’s voice is a pleasant, low rumble, almost allowing James to forget what he’s actually saying and instead focusing more on that voice.

Then, he snaps out of it. “We are _nothing_ alike.”

“No?” The blond leans back a bit, apparently genuinely surprised.

“I came back to MI6. You clearly did not.”

“You know nothing about it.”

“You don’t know my reasons and I don’t know yours.”

“Oh,” the blond retorts, “I know why you went back, with your tail between your legs. You think she needs you.”

“My country,” James corrects, “needs me. To protect it from men-” he eyes the man on his lap up and down “-like you. You’re dressed nicely.”

The blond smiles. “Mm, finally acknowledging me? Why, thank you.”

“But what is the man beneath all this?” James interrupts. “Beneath all your stories and your bullshit.” His voice is lethal as he demands, “who are _you_?”

The blond takes his time, biting the inside of his cheek as he’s eyeing the man in front of him, before his eyes go wandering around the room he knows like the back of his hand. He remains silent, so James continues. “All the dangerous men I’ve met always had these grandiose ideas about the world and how they’re going to dominate it.”

He shakes his head as James speaks. “But that’s not you, is it,” James reads in his eyes.

“I don’t want world domination.”

“You just want to be a mirror. To show them what they’ve done. Think on your sins, was it? But if you are a mirror then what? All those agents who died in the explosion, young men, just like you were at some point. Does that make you better than them, better than M who you seem to hate so much?”

The blond had tensed immensely in his lap, his grip around James’ wrist turning iron and his jaw clenched. “I am not better than her. She made me this way.” His voice is quiet, letting the implications of the words work their way into James’ brain.

“Do you think you can be my mirror?” he finishes.

“Why, you cannot wait to acquire a drinking problem?” James asks with mischievous eyes.

The blond’s eyes flutter back to James’ face. “Well, I’m sure it will be puny in contrast to _your_ drinking problem, Mr Bond.”

“I don’t have a drinking problem… this job is one big problem.”

“Ah, there you have it already.” The man eyes him curiously. “The cracks are beginning to spread, James.”

“Hmm.”

His captor leans forward again, making James tense up. “Didn’t she say, it was the _possibility_ of losing you or the _certainty_ of losing all the other agents? So little trust in our dear double-oh seven.”

“Stop it,” Jams growls with flashing eyes and he tries to jerk his wrist out of the man’s grip, whose eyes narrow and his grip only grows firmer. “No, Mr Bond.”

“The lives of however many agents’ names you have on that drive are certainly worth more than the life of one. It’s called maths and you should try it sometime.” His voice is lethally cold and he is suddenly so _done_ with this asshole provoking him.

The blond pays no attention to his tone and asks, “whose life then? Yours or mine?”

“Well your life is obviously worth nothing to them, as I seem to understand. Mine is worth slightly more, apparently.”

“How do you give a price to lives then? Explain that to me,” the blond demands.

“You like that don’t you.” Finally, an opening to poke a sharp stick into the blond man’s guts. “Being in charge? Does that what… make your heart beat faster?”

But no, the blond plays the game back with him and starts drawing circles around his collarbones with his fingers. “You are looking slightly flustered, Mr Bond.”

“I’m just curious.”

“Oh? I thought you had no interest in me, and look now! Delving into my personal desires.”

“Demand for respect coursing through your body,” James cuts him off. “Demand to be respected. Where would that come from? One of many children? No.” He searches the blond’s eyes. “An orphan.”

The blond jerks back a little on his lap. “Hmm-mm. Look how perfect a mirror you are.”

James allows himself a small grin. “But it’s more than that. Everyone likes to be respected. You… you _need_ it. You want it,” he whispers, “you want it more than oxygen.”

A small shiver through the blond’s spine and he hates himself for it. He closes his eyes to avoid the stare from that icy blue.

“Which means… someone took it away from you. And not just once,” James continues. “You were tortured.”

The blond’s eyes snap open, he looks away, then at James’ chest and starts stroking the scar on his right shoulder. Still he doesn’t speak. So James does.

“Must’ve been very bad, you hate physical touch too, so they weren’t just using the usual techniques. Not just beatings, no.”

“North Korea, 2002,” the blond suddenly cuts in, “they kept you for more than a year.”

James acknowledges this with a nod and a sour smile. “But you see, I’m not afraid of touching like you are. You expected me to be because you are. They did horrific things to me. Beat me, put scorpions on me, burnt me. But they never…” His voice drops and he swallows. “They never really used psychological stuff on me. Which means… Chinese.”

“You are a lucky man, Mr Bond.”

“Yes. Definitely Chinese. Now they, they got nasty methods.”

And suddenly it is too much for the blond, he breathes out shakily and mutters, “shut up.”

But James isn’t done poking and provoking him yet. “Did they put you in a tiny room?”

Louder, now: “I said shut up.”

Still not done. “Where you can’t sit or lie down, there’s no air, the walls close in on you.”

Both of the men are tense and are silent for a short moment, until James says, “untie my wrists. My bloody hands hurt like hell.”

The blond’s lips are moving rapidly, and he is whispering quickly. “Much is taken much abides. We are not now that strength which in old days…”

“Moved earth and heaven,” James finishes for him, surprised. “One of my favourite poems.”

He meets the blond’s dark eyes, who take him in with something that looks like shock. “Oh really?” the blond sneers to cover up.

“Yes,” James simply says. “That which we are, we are.”

“One equal temper of heroic hearts.”

“Made weak…”

“By time…”

“By time and fate.”

“But strong in will.”

They never break eye contact, their voices hoarse whispers.

“To strive, to seek.”

“To find…”

“And not to yield,” they finish in union.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some understanding happens and a cigarette is smoked.

The shift in the atmosphere is like a steel bar hitting them in the chest with full force. They stare at each other for a moment, the blond mercifully loosening his grip on James’ _free_ wrist. They don’t break eye contact and they’re searching the eyes of the other carefully. Finally, it is James who breaks the silence, but carefully, slowly, almost quietly.

“I’m sorry that happened to you.”

The blond leans back for a second before suddenly moving forward, pressing their chests together and he reaches around the chair, in a hug-like movement. James gasps at the sudden contact, his opened mouth getting a mouthful of blonde hair. The man jerks his head back and unties James’ other wrist, bringing both of his hands together in front of him.

James grunts lightly. “Mmm, better.”

The blond presses his mouth against one of James’ wrists, feeling his pulse with his lips. His eyes close, and he stays like that for a while, calmly counting. James, meanwhile, tenses up and watches him intently, until the blond lowers James’ wrist into their laps again and smiles, “mm, eighty. Slightly sped up.”

“I have issues with intimacy. And by that I don’t mean sexual intimacy.” James grins.

“Do go on.” He raises one eyebrow, his face serious. He seems genuinely interested.

James laughs, “what, we done deciphering your problems then?”

“Let’s move on to yours.”

“I just wish to add… This rat monologue, did you just think of it today or was it one of the stories of a small orphaned boy?”

The blond is really getting annoyed, this man seeing through him so easily. Well, on the other hand, for him it’s just a confirmation of how much they are alike. So after eyeing James up and down, he finally – albeit slowly – answers. “It was true.”

“Because I told stories,” is James’ whispered reply. His eyes cloud and his vision is blurred, so he doesn’t see the blond’s dark eyes urging him to go on.

“To whom?” the man on his lap asks after a short silence.

“How old were you?”

“Eleven.”

Something flashes in James’ eyes and when he speaks, his voice is razor sharp and ice cold. “You better not be lying.”

The blond shakes his head and tenses as James brushes his fingers against his wrist, imitating his measurement. “No you’re not lying… but you’re agitated.”

“You were eleven. When your parents died.”

The coldness is again in James’ voice as he replies. “Yes. I was.”

“A perfect mirror,” the blond cuts in, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

James has to do his best to not roll his eyes and he says, with a demanding but slightly tired voice, “tell me. Is this a game or are you actually looking for a connection? Because I think people confuse the two.”

“What do _you_ think?”

“I want to know. Doesn’t matter what I think.”

“What do you hope, then?”

“Hope? Hope is for spiritual idiots.”

A sigh and eye-roll in response.

“I honestly have no idea,” James continues and breathes out before he goes on. “Maybe you really want this. Maybe it’s just another way… more eloquent, but still, a way to fuck me over.” He shrugs, he really doesn’t know at this point.

The blond suddenly leans forward again and presses his lips against James’ carotid. He closes his eyes again in upper concentration. James shivers all over and his eyes dart into the blond’s direction. When he finally, slowly, leans back, there’s a grin on his lips. “Ninety.”

“And?”

“Looking for a connection.”

James’ eyes widen. “You based your answer on my pulse?”

The blond leans forward again and presses his lips to James’ neck again, trying measure his pulse again. James tries to jerk away, causing the blond to sharply bite his neck to keep him still.

“This measurement is clearly inaccurate now, you just bit me.” James talks loudly, trying to get the blond out of his concentration. “Shut up, I can’t concentrate when you talk.”

“Mmm I said it was _inaccurate_.” He speaks louder and louder. “And also I think this room is a bit big for a study, don’t you?”

“Just _shut it._ ” The blond closes his eyes.

James grins: mission accomplished. “And this suit… what is it?” He moves his head around the blond’s shoulder, trying to see any labels. The blond finally leans back and announces, in a tired voice, “Prada.”

“Mmm gorgeous.”

“Tom Ford is alright too.”

Suddenly they grin at each other.

“So now you’re basically counting my reaction to the labels. Well done, Mr… Oh. What a shame. Not even a name.”

The blond’s eyes darken and his expression turns serious. He doesn’t reply and stares at _somewhere_ behind James, as if he isn’t there.

“So what should I call you then?”

“Raoul Silva. I think that will suffice.”

“You insult me, Mr Silva,” James says with defiant eyes.

“Mm, why’s that,” Silva inquires.

“I thought we were being honest here.”

“You did not ask me for my name, you asked me what to call me,” Silva points out.

“As you wish… So how’s my pulse?”

A sneer. “You calmed down now, it won’t be a fair measurement.”

“Mmm, well, I suppose we should continue our earlier conversation, if you think it got me so agitated.”

Again they stare at each other; so many riddles about the other that are just begging to be solved and meanwhile, the answers are just written in the other’s eyes. They would never admit it but they are _so_ addicted to solving such a riddle.

“Did it now?”

“You were looking for a connection you said. But why? It always fascinated me about people. Why willing choose something that is destined to fail?”

“Well, you tried yourself.” Silva eyes him coldly. “And… and it didn’t work out and now you’re scared of trying. So you do everything in your power to keep that shield of yours up. It’s a shame for you I can see right through.” He leans forward a bit, almost conspiratorially.

“Is that right?” James skips right through the bullshit.

“Hmm-mm. Destined to fail. What a poor choice of words. _Destiny._ ” He huffs.

Anger flashes in James’ eyes, to which Silva shorty raises an eyebrow – which is getting so bloody annoying – and raises James’ wrist _again_. James gives the man an exaggerated eye roll.

“Hmm. Ninety-five.”

“So you apparently decided not to protect yourself at all. And throw your arms around a stranger. Well, that sounds very… very reasonable.”

“Not a stranger,” Silva interrupts.

“Our similarities aside, we’ve never met before.”

Those dark eyes look at him, something flashes and James suddenly hesitates how to go on. “What you offered me,” he finally says, “if you are being serious of course. Well for the sake of this stupid argument, let’s say you are. What you offered me, is a deal of a life time.”

Silva licks his lips, waiting for him to continue.

“How could you ever offer something like this to someone? So you, what, read my file? You think all that I am is in that file?” A flash of anger in his eyes and a lethal voice accompany those last words.

“No. That’s why I brought you here,” Silva explains.

“Oh. So this is a bit like a reality show then… and how am I doing?”

They roll their eyes at each other and sigh a bit.

“Not bad.”

James’ eyes glint with laughter. “Getting any closer to winning the main prize then?”

“You’re so annoying,” Silva mumbles with a smile and he tugs lightly at James’ wrists.

“I honestly don’t understand you,” James says slowly and he shakes his head. The blond looks at him, the question mark big in his dark, dark eyes.

“You obviously have issues. You said MI6 betrayed you. M betrayed me. I’m a mirror of you, thus implying that she did it to you too. And after all that baggage… You offer what… to share the world? To destroy it?” James pauses and takes a deep breath. “To build it. Together.” He speaks the last word quietly.

Silva tenses on his lap. “And yet you say you don’t understand me.” His head is tilted lightly to the side.

“I don’t understand how you can offer this to me, after being betrayed.”

“But you are like me.” It’s a statement. “You’ve been through the same.”

“And that’s a guarantee?” James asks doubtfully.

“You might think of me as an enemy.”

“I don’t.”

The blond seems not to have heard him and continues. “But you’d never-” his eyes flicker and some of his pain shines brightly to James “-do that unto someone else.”

“I don’t.” James repeats.

Silva pauses, seems taken aback. “Oh..? Something’s changed then.” He leans forward, his interest sparked again. “Tell me, what did I do to win your heart?” There’s a predatory smile on his face, his voice playfully sugar-coated.

James chuckles. “Please. You didn’t.”

Silva’s eyes shine brightly.

“I just think you’re very confused,” James continues. “Hardly evil.” He shrugs.

“Hmm? I have to work on my speech then.”

“It’s not what you say…” James pauses, looking for the right words to explain what he means. When he speaks, his voice sounds _understanding_. “It’s just… you’re trying to build something. On the ruins of everything.”

Silva’s hurt – it’s obvious in his eyes, no matter how quickly he looks down. “I…” he starts, but then lightly shakes his head and shrugs. “You’re right.”

“But buildings cannot be made out of plastic. You need foundations. Otherwise, the wind blows and your house of cards goes crushing down.”

“I have an island,” Silva jokes.

“I’m talking about your head. You’re a mess.”

Silva’s dark gaze bores into him. “You’re pathetic.”

“Well so are you,” James retorts.

“Mirrors.” It’s but a whisper, almost lost in the gigantic hall. James doesn’t say anything and lets his gaze wander around the room again. He notices a tiny vase with two white flowers in it, standing next to what seems to be Silva’s main laptop. He is pulled back into the moment when Silva shifts lightly on his lap.

“Pathetic, huh,” James grins.

“Disgusting,” Silva responds in kind.

“What’s more, the pills or what I say?”

“You…” Silva almost moans, “you in general.”

“Does that irk you? When someone sees through the bullshit?”

“It’s relieving, to be honest.”

Another exchange of smiles, until Silva slightly shifts on James’ lap, making him grunt.

“What a – uhhhh – wreck you are.”

“So are you. Forty. Physical wreck.”

James eyes flash and he moves his hips upwards. “Trying to gain control at every turn and never getting it. Must be so exhausting.” He smiles an evil smile. “A wreck.”

Silva closes his eyes almost completely which makes him look like he’s meditating. He mutters, “it _is_ exhausting.” His eyes fly open and he sharply says, “do you enjoy this, provoking me?”

“What do you think,” James asks mischievously.

“Ohh, I think you are getting off on it… more than you care to admit.” A lazy smile. A smile that says, look, I’m in control.

James rolls his eyes – gods, it almost starts to hurt from the frequency with which it happens. “No one ever gets off in this room, that’s for sure. But what a nice way to switch the conversation.”

“Don’t you like it here?” And it’s almost as if Silva genuinely wants an answer to that, a confirmation that this is indeed a nice place – for James as well. Because he wants to keep him there.

“What is this, the next round of your little show? To check if we’re compatible in the bedroom?” James eyes sparkle dangerously. “I like it here, I just said that no one ever gets off here.”

Silva’s voice is harsh when he answers. “As I recall, you wouldn’t appreciate it if I’d fuck you to get your soul.”

When James doesn’t answer and just gives him provocative stares, Silva sighs and then asks, with a smile, “how do you know no one gets off here?”

James decides to answer his first remark, quietly. “No one can get into my soul.”

“You have a shield.”

“Spiritual people have souls. Missionaries. Not assassins.” His voice is cold.

“Hmm, what do you have then, in here-” Silva taps his chest, then his head, lightly “-or in here?”

“I have a heart and a brain. In those places.”

It’s silent for a moment.

“Nobody fucks in this room,” James suddenly says, “I’m willing to bet a thousand pounds.”

“Well, you’re right.”

“Really.”

“Hmm. Really.”

James closes his eyes and thinks of something, breathing out heavily.

“Something wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Silva sharply says. “Give me a little more credit.”

James slowly opens his eyes and looks straight at the other man.

“I was thinking, about how much I’m dying for a cigarette.”

Silva tuts. “Bad habits, Mr Bond?”

James grins widely. “Always, Mr Whatever.”

Silva’s mouth twitches lightly, but he starts patting James’ pockets and asks, “do you have a pack?”

“Yes, but…” James tries to free one of his hands and Silva lets him, allowing James to reach into the back pocket of his suit. “You can have it.” James can’t reach it. “Just…” he grunts, “get off a little, will you.”

Silva puts a little weight on his feet, letting him reach and take the pack. The blond sits down on his lap, using this opportunity to shift into a slightly more comfortable position. James tries to find a lighter, and realises it’s in the other pocket. “My second hand,” he demands. Silva’s grip grows iron around his other wrist. “I need two hands to light it.”

Silva reaches around it again and _that arsehole_ takes James by surprise again, making him gasp _again_ , as he reaches into the pocket with the lighter. Silva pulls hand back with a smile, the lighter dangling between his fingers. James puts the cigarette in his mouth to cover his reaction, mumbling, “now give me.” He tries to reach for the lighter, but Silva holds it out of his reach.

“Be nice, or I might tie you up again.”

“What’s this,” James mumbles through the cigarette, “you said I could have it.”

Silva lights the lighter in front of his face and James leans down slightly, waiting for the cigarette to light up. When it’s lit, James leans back and inhales. Silva slightly squints against the smoke when James takes the cigarette out of his mouth with his free hand, and exhales, blowing the smoke out in circles. Silva takes the cigarette from him and inhales.

James eyes him curiously. “Oh no. Bad habits, Mr Silva.”

Silva’s eyes almost roll back in bliss but he answers, or rather mutters, “hmm, you bring those up in me.”

James leans forward to grab the cigarette back and explains, “well, no, the need for controlling everything is all you.” He grins and inhales again, his eyes narrowing blissfully on the inhalation.

The blond grabs it back and inhales once, keeping it out of his reach. “Is that so?” His lips form a perfect ‘o’ when he blows the smoke out and he looks up, watching the smoke go up endlessly in the gigantic hall.

“I can’t have my lighter. Now I can’t have that either?” James longingly stares at the cigarette. “You’re a control freak,” he adds.

Silva rolls his eyes and sticks the cigarette between his lips, brushing James’ chin with his thumb while his fore- and middle finger hold the cigarette.

James looks up at him while he wraps his lips around the cigarette more closely, the smoke coming out wrong and inhales, then slightly leans back to exhale. Silva lets his fingers fall on his chest, still holding the cigarette and he drums his chest slightly.

“What now, going to control my breathing?” James asks sarcastically.

“If only I could do that,” Silva sighs.

“Doesn’t it ever get boring though? Controlling.”

“ _Never_.”

James takes a moment to lean his head down to the cigarette, wrapping his lips around it, accidentally brushing Silva’s fingers with his lips when he inhales. “Liar.” He blows out the smoke, away from their breathing space. “I know it does. You know how everything turns out. How can that not be boring?”

“It’s reassuring,” Silva carefully says.

“Oh right I forgot. You need to be comforted.”

Silva squints. “Do I?”

“Of course you do.” James grunts when he tries to reach for the cigarette again, the movement uncomfortable in his position. Silva helps him and puts his hand towards his mouth, allowing James to inhale.

Wetting his fingers with his tongue, Silva looks slightly tired when he puts the cigarette out. It softly sizzles between his fingers. He flicks it away and James follows the movement.

“Controlling is boring. You need to learn to let go.”

“Well who is going to teach me,” Silva barks, “on this fucking island.”

James eyes widen at this sudden outburst. “What, those boys don’t know how to party?” He smiles mockingly.

“Look at them.”

“Well, I suppose I understand why you, as you say, _chose_ me then.”

Silva’s voice is a low, pleasant rumble when replies, “why, are you going to show me?”

“If there’s one thing I do too well it’s partying.” The slightly mocking grin in still present.

“Yes… yes you do.” Silva rubs his eyes with one hand and mutters, “estúpido.”

“Why, the social graces part is over?”

“You never were my gyest, Mr Bond.” Silva places his hand on James’ chest in a vague gesture of familiarity.

“No, I’m not quite sure who I am, anyway.” James looks down at the blond’s hand. “Well, a mirror. But a mirror is an object. I don’t like being an object.”

Silva whispers with a stoic expression, “finally admitting it,” before he opens his eyes, adjusting, all seeming a blur to him. He finally focuses on James’ eyes, staring at him curiously and mischievously.

“What, is our little game here making you tired? Then the bedroom compatability is out of the quesiton.” A wide grin grows even wider on his face.

Silva feels a smile forming on his lips despite himself – finally, they both got  a taste for this game and it’s more interesting than he’d initially thought. “I thought you weren’t going to let yourself get fucked, Mr Bond,” he states bluntly.

“Well we mentioned the next round a couple minutes ago. If a little talk gets you so exhausted, I’m afraid you’re not a fitting candidate. Or should I say, I’m not. Since I don’t get tired. Not in bed.” The grin has grown into an evil smile.

Silva raises an eyebrow and slowly licks his bottom lip. He doesn’t immediately respond, so James snaps, “it’s okay, I’m sure you’ll find comfort in someone else’s arms.”

“Shut it already.”

“Why, you really are the controlling type,” James sighs.

The blond leans forward, pressing his lips to James’ neck. This time he saw it coming and all he does is breathe out heavily instead of shivering and he immediately quips, “don’t you think it’s pathetic? You admitted to not having sex with anyone and now you’re molesting a man in  your captivity.”

It tickles when Silva mumbles against his neck, “Is this molesting you? You are unbound, Mr Bond.”

James jerks his hands out of Silva’s grip. “Now I am. So, what, do I win awards at the end of this or something? Because,” James leans down, lethally whispering, “I’m not intending to be _anyone’s_ bitch.”

Silva leans back and presses his lips against James’ ear. “Well, neither am I.” His hands creep to James’ wrists again, who pulls them away, before asking, “what do you want?”

“You already asked me that,” Silva answers, puzzled.

“I mean, in general. What. Do you want,” James whispers, despite himself.

When the man answers, it sounds strangely distant. “For people to think on their sins.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mental torture and sex. NSFW.

 

“People only regret mistakes when it’s too late,” James shrugs.

Silva snaps, “don’t tell _me_.” He pauses, retakes himself, and asks, “so, what do _you_ want?”

James decides to give an honest answer. Despite himself, despite his more than uncomfortable position, he is starting to understand Silva, almost sympathising with him – although he doubt he’ll ever be able to condone his actions.

“Actually, I’m not sure. I told you, I’m not big on big proposals and world domination. Maybe there’s no meaning in all of this.”

“Well, I’m not planning world domination and-” Silva raises one eyebrow “-certainly no proposing here. No one gets off in this hallway, remember?” He is trying to sound playful, making a shift in the conversation, probably trying to play around his own pain, James’ pain.

“Maybe that’s why you people don’t know how to party.” James moves his hips a little.

Yes. Definitely a shift in the conversation.

Silva’s eyes roll back briefly at the movement, before he stutters, “teach m-me.”

“There’s no alcohol,” James grins fiercely, “no drugs. What kind of a party would that be?”

“Boring,” Silva says, “numbing the mind. The easy way out.”

“And revenge isn’t,” James retorts stubbornly, with rolling eyes.

The blond’s eyes narrow dangerously. “Revenge isn’t a party.”

James leans closer to Silva’s face, lips almost touching lips. “You live in the past,” James whispers lethally.

“You live in a haze.”

They’re talking at each other but not really listening to each other.

“There’s no yesterday and no tomorrow, there’s just now.”

“Where you can’t see a thing of what’s going on.” Silva explains.

Suddenly James looks up, and whispers against Silva’s lips, “and what is going on?”

The blond shrugs. “Life.”

“This is not a life,” James says with bright eyes. He moves even closer. “Tell me… If you say we’re so much alike…”

“Mmm…”

“How much do you know about death?”

Silva jerks his head back, before he spits, “all there is.”

James puts his hands on Silva’s neck, tugging him closer, causing the blond to gasp and claw at James’ chest, trying to push him away, before he relaxes a bit when he notices James isn’t going to hurt him – physically.

“So you died, like me. Then how can you say, how can you say that this is life?” James is searching for the words as he stares into the blond’s dark eyes. “You were granted a second chance at everything. And you look into the past?” His grip loosens slightly, allowing Silva enough air to be able to give a reply.

“A second chance. Everything is second-hand. I’d prefer my old life.”

James eyes widen as he understands. “My life. That you’re asking me to give up.”

“Not give up. Trade.”

“Trade,” James repeats.

“Now, with as much of your integrity intact as possible, because you will fall eventually. She will let you fall so hard you can’t get up. So why not take off yourself. Prevent that from happening.” Silva stares at him straight, his voice emotionless.

James lets go of the man’s neck and leans back. One finger slowly explores the skin that his unbuttoned shirt reveals and James has to suppress a shiver.

“I’m not sure what exactly happened between you two,” James says slowly, his breath catching at the touch, “but this job comes with risks.”

“The job did,” Silva agrees, “but _her position_ brought you a certain fall from grace.”

“We’re not talking about me right now.”

“I was proposing a trade. This is about you… and me.”

“I want to know the details of the exchange,” James says with glinting eyes. He slowly moves his fingers towards the blond’s face, who, to his credit, only leans back slightly, and James just brushes a strand of hair away.

Silva breathes out. “What do you want to know?”

James bites his lower lip before he says, “you.” His hand ghosts over the blond’s face lightly before moving away.

Silva’s eyes momentarily close at the almost-touch and he mutters, “you have to give me a little bit more to work with. What about me?”

“Two survivors, right? So. What did you survive?”

The blond licks his lips shortly before he slowly responds, “death.”

“That she caused?” The bright blue eyes pierce Silva’s eyes.

“Hmm,” Silva grunts, “no, she put me on the bridge with a gun pressed against my head. I took the jump myself.”

“I’m bored of metaphors.”

“I like being in control.”

“Just talk to me like a human being.”

Silva loses it momentarily. “Alright!” he suddenly yells. “She fucked me over! She gave me up.”

James watches intently – he hadn’t expected the man to break like this, hadn’t expected this subject, M, to be _this_ sensitive to Silva. “Traded you?” James carefully asks/

Silva is breathing heavily and he sneers when he hears the question. “You can barely call that a trade. The file says they were coming on to me.” His eyes darken. “She didn’t even give me a chance. Just like she didn’t give you a chance. On the train.”

James’ eyes narrow, he is tired of Silva constantly changing the subject to _him_. When Silva leans in and his lips brush against the skin just below his eye while whispering, “take the bloody shot,” he jerks away and looks down.

“Was there more you wanted to know?” Silva rests his forehead against James’, who is distracted by thoughts and sighs.

“What is it?” Silva asks.

“I’m just…” his voice trails off. “I’m so tired of this bullshit. You look for meaning in life, you lose it. You try to look for it again, you think you found it, and then it runs away from you.” His voice is barely audible. “I came back because I saw what you-” he looks up briefly at Silva “-were doing to my city.” Their eyes meet shortly. “The meaning. It was back. No matter M’s mistakes, my job still made sense.” James turns away.

“Are you just going to forget those mistakes?”

“Well apparently not.” James’ voice is lifeless.

“What do you think about our trade then?”

“I’ve been in relationships with people who barely shared a pen with me.” He tries to sound sneering but his voice is still lifeless – colourless. “And you want to share a life. Nothing makes sense anymore. Nothing.” He shakes his head.

“Clear up the haze.” Silva softly taps his temple. “In here.”

“So now this is an expensive rehab facility?” Another eye roll. “I am who I am. Maybe you even like me this way.”

“Expensive? It won’t cost you a penny.” Silva laughs a short barking laugh.

James grins in response. “There’s a price for everything, right.”

Silva’s voice is a low, soft rumble. “I’m not asking money from you.”

“Who’s talking about money? I only said ‘a price for everything.’”

Suddenly tired, Silva demands, “I asked you… are you going to accept my offer?”

“And if I say no?” James searches the blond’s eyes, who looks back.

“Well, I’m not going to let you run back to Mommy if that’s what you were hoping for.”

“What,” James leans impossibly close, lips brushing against Silva’s while looking up, “going to ill me then?”

Silva looks down at him, almost closing his eyes, his gaze burning at James through dark lashes. “Are you asking for it?” he mumbles in the air between their lips.

James grins. “No, you wouldn’t just kill me. Fuck me first. Then kill. Or maybe vice versa.” His eyes start to glint dangerously.

“Now that would be boring,” Silva sniggers, “nothing to be in control of.”

“Kill first,” James wraps his hands around Silva’s neck, “put a nice little bullet into my head. Or heart.” He leans closer to whisper in his ear, “God knows, you’re the romantic type.”

Silva tenses in his grip.

“And then fuck me,” James continues in a lethal whisper.

Silva claws at his jacket when James brushes Silva’s lap with one hand, the other still tight around his neck.

“Guns. Boring,” Silva stammers, as James whispers against his ear.

“Then how? Stick a knife into my heart?”

One finger travels up and taps the left side of James’ jaw. “Back left molar.”

“Oh sorry. Took it out years ago.”

Silva is agitated but does a very good job at hiding it and he quickly continues, “still… not interesting. A knife? How old-fashioned.”

“Well, what else is left?” James asks mischievously.

“Hmm. You’re a double-oh. Never tried something more interesting?”

“Choke me? That’s actually kind of hot,” James ponders, “maybe you want to choke me while fucking me.” He brushes against Silva’s crotch again, who leans forward, tenses and gasps.

He manages to blurt out through gritted teeth, “well, that sounds like _you_ would like to do that.”

James presses his upper body against him in reply. “What, choke you?”

“Mm.”

“Imagine? Pushing into me and then you put your hands-” James takes Silva’s hands and presses them against his own neck “-on my throat, squeezing tightly? Making me belong to you forever,” James whispers devilishly.

Silva almost immediately pulls his hands back, resting them in James’ lap.

“I’m not planning to… to violate you like that.” Silva’s voice is harsh.

“You’re not?”

Silva’s hands suddenly grip him by his throat and he whispers coldly, “or do you like that? Losing control, not being in charge, leaving problems up to others?”

James grabs his hands, trying to get them off, and anger flashes brightly in his eyes. “Stop it,” he grunts.

“Answer me,” Silva demands. He tightens his grip.

“No, no, no,” James pants, his eyes watering.

Silva immediately releases him and leans back as far as he can without falling off James’ lap. “What is it then!”

James looks down, his fingers curling into fists. The blond gently places his hands on James’, who slightly squirms under his hands. Silva leans in, his lips slightly brushing against James’ strong jawline. “Talk to me,” he softly says.

“Don’t you dare do that again.”

“Do what again?” Silva asks playfully.

“Grab me like that.” James looks up at him, his eyes brighter than ever.

Biting his lower lip, Silva looks back, and with a dangerous voice asks, “like what?” He brushes James’ fingers with his own.

He doesn’t move his hands away and responds, “like you did.” His eyes are stubborn, knowing damn well the game they’re playing.

So does Silva. “I can’t promise anything.” He places his hands on James’ hips, who blinks when he feels it.

“And why is that?”

“Mmm. Hot-headed Spaniard.” Silva’s voice is feather-light and his lips brush James’ chin.

James closes his eyes and is surprised when the blond presses a soft kiss against his eyelids.

“That better?”

“Mmm not sure,” James slowly growls out.

Silva drops his head, his hair falling in front of his face and he grazes his teeth along his jawline, brushes his fingers against the seams in his pants.

“Better?”

“Mmm still not sure.”

A small smile is Silva’s victory. He isn’t done, however, and his tongue darts out to lick at his jaw, trailing a path to his lips. He stops and hovers above his lips. “This then? Better?”

James breathes in sharply, his eyes snapping open. His voice is barely above a whisper when he answers, “slightly.”

Silva rolls his eyes before he presses a kiss on the other man’s full lips. James’ mouth parts obediently and he kisses back. Silva slides his tongue in and bruises his lips, pressing into him with full force. Lightly moaning into Silva’s mouth, James moves his hands up to slide through the blonde hair. Silva’s fingers dance over his groin and he temporarily moves away to pant, “better?”

James leans into his touch and gasps, “considerably.” He leans in for another kiss, that the blond answers while moving his lips forward roughly. James’ hands tug him closer, one hand still in his hair, the other brushing down his back, scratching lightly. This time it’s Silva’s turn to moan and he moves forward in his lap, pressing their bodies flush.

James tugs at his hair and breaks the kiss when it’s impossible to breathe. Silva is looking down already, one hand on James’ shoulder, the other brushing against his groin, prying his fingers under the rim of his pants.

They stare at each other for a moment, however, and with a raised eyebrow, Silva asks, “better?”

“Mmm…” James’ eyes are clouded with pleasure and he opens his mouth as Silva licks at his lips. James tries to mumble the words, “mmm is there a bedroom in this ruin?”

Silva immediately stumbles backwards off of his lap, grabbing James’ wrists once again. “Come on,” he playfully says.

James looks up, grinning and gets up, swaying slightly with numb legs.

“I’m not going to have to carry you, do I?” The blond asks with an eye-roll, while quickly pulling him towards the lift.

James only grins wider as a reply and when they stumble into the lift, he observes, appreciating, “mmm, this is nice.”

The blond pushes him roughly against the wall of the lift and whispers, “unbelievable,” to himself, before biting James’ neck. James throws his arms around the Silva’s shoulders and groans in the blond hair, “so controlling.”

Silva’s reply is only to jerk his hips forward roughly and bite harder.

“You like that so much,” James moans and laughs at the same time, and he throws his head back, exposing his throat. Silva leans in more, licking at the tender flesh, when the lift doors open and James groans, not amused. Silva slowly drags them towards the room on the other side of the doors.

It’s a tastefully decorated master bedroom, with two other doors leading somewhere else, but the most outstanding object in  the room is the beautiful mahogany bed with burgundy sheets, on which James is roughly pushed. The blond takes his shoes and socks off within a split second and almost jumps on top of James, who easily gets back up and pushes him down.

Silva grunts and throws his head back against the mattress when James licks at his chest through his button-up shirt.  James then looks up at him with wide eyes and tries to get his own jacket off. Silva sits up slightly and throws James’ jacket off, ripping his shirt open. James grins and in return grabs the blond’s shirt, tearing it off of his chest and then latches his teeth onto the skin, leaving red marks. He finds scars there, which he tongues slowly.

The blond falls back on the mattress, softly yelps and involuntarily shivers in his arms, at which James presses him closer and licks up, up to his soft mouth with already red lips and kisses him, licking into his mouth. He breaks away after a moment and leans to Silva’s ear. “Losing control. This is what it feels like.”

Looking up at him through wet lashes, Silva stutters, “is this what it feels like?” James licks teasingly at his lips and mumbles, “well, it is about to get better.”

Silva closes his eyes for a moment and tries to think, before he decides to take the leap and with half-opened eyes begs, “show me.”

James leans down and kisses him deeply, bruising his lips and pressing his hands down against the bed for support. The blond tenses underneath him, answering the kiss. One of James’ hands slides down, working his belt open, but it seems impossible using only one hand so he leans fully on Silva, two hands grabbing his belt.

“Oof,” Silva mumbles against his lips. James gets the belt out completely and brings it up, wrapping it slowly around his own arms. “Want this?” he asks mischievously.

“Are you going to let me back in control?” the blond moans, James leaning down and biting his neck sharply. “Maybe. If you want it.”

Silva squeezes his eyes, and looks at James, shaking his head a little. With a begging tone to his voice, he mutters, “make me…” and tries to breathe.

“Make you?” James asks, eyebrows raising.

It’s barely audible, but it’s there: “make me lose control.” He doesn’t even know if he wants to lose control through getting himself literally fucked or through  shutting his brain down and letting his body guide himself. James makes the decision for him. “But I want you to fuck me,” he says with a huge grin on his lips.

James works his zipper open and slips a hand inside Silva’s tailored pants. The blond only arches his back, pressing them together, and closes his eyes, his head spinning with indecision. James whispers, “come on, unlock me,” his hand moving teasingly slow.

Silva squints, bites his lower lip and then grabs James’ wrists, before he looks him straight in the eye and says, “alright then.” He flips James over and starts tugging James’ pants off, pausing to lick at a red bite mark on his throat. James moans loudly and laughs, then jerks his right hand out of Silva’s grip. “What is it?” the blond asks. “I need one hand…”

“What for?”

“I need to touch you,” James growls.

Silva continues teasing him, grinding his hips down, licking his chest, his hands sliding over every inch of his skin, following a path from scars to birthmarks to his navel and following the light blond hair down, playfully touching him.

 James tenses and relaxes, the raw pleasure already coursing through his veins, and he slides his hand through Silva’s gorgeous blond hair. He mutters something, and the blond asks him to repeat it.

“Your name… I wish I knew your bloody name.” Followed by a grunt as Silva suddenly completely tugs his pants off and throws them through the room. “Maybe that’ll be your award,” he replies, before looking down and noticing, with a dangerously high raised eyebrow, “no underwear?”

James only grins and Silva starts squirming out of his own pants, mumbling “help me, Cristo,” at which James sits up, grabs the man’s pants on both sides and starts ripping them apart. He leans in for a kiss but the blond mumbles against his lips, “well that wasn’t necessary.”

James leans back and declares, “yes, yes it was,” continuing their game by throwing the shreds besides the bed.

A push, and he’s lying on his back on the bed, the blond crawling back on top of him, deliciously dangerously whispering in his ear, “no, it wasn’t.”

Wrapping his legs around Silva’s waist, James starts rocking against him slightly, urging him to go on, almost unable to take the anticipation. The blond moans a little before he softly says, “alright.” A shadow suddenly covers James eyes as he bites his lower lip and slowly says, “downstairs… I kind of… lied.” His fingers anxiously curl against Silva’s hair, his hands almost sweaty.

Silva stills and asks, with narrowed eyes, “what’s that?”

“I said it wasn’t my first time. Well and…”

The blond’s dark eyes widen in surprise and then understanding, and opens his mouth slightly before blinking. “Ah… alright.” He stares at James for a few more seconds before snapping out of it and reaching for the bedside drawer, which turns out to be too far away. “Help me, will you.”

James grins again, his earlier bravado returning, and he leans towards the drawer, opening it, going through the contents. “Lube and condoms? For _your_ bedroom?” He throws the bottle at Silva, who clumsily catches it, while he mockingly upset answers, “I said no getting off in the hallway, here is a different story.”

“Mmm I’m so disappointed.”

“How’s that,” Silva groans, cursing himself for continuing this stupid conversation while he is so ready to _get on_ with it.

“I was hoping,” James buries his fingers in the blond hair again, “well, that it was new for you too.”

Silva slicks his fingers, sighs, “too bad,” and starts working James open, a little bit too rough and James gasps, “oh fuck, _slower_.” The blond does as he asks, carefully and slowly stretching him.

“How many – uuhh – how many did you, did you bring in here,” James breathes out, his eyes watering.

“Zero.”

“But you said- ”

“-sex isn’t new for me, but this is.”

“This?” James moans.

Silva says nothing, only staring at him intently, then adds another finger. James trashes against the bed, his hands flying everywhere, looking for something to hold on to but not being able to hold still. He blinks rapidly, his eyes watering intensely and when he tries to look up at the blond, his eyes are unfocused.

“Alright?” Silva whispers.

“Uh – more than,” a gasp, “more than alright.”

“Okay…”

James finally curls his fingers around Silva’s neck and throws his head back, moaning out, “come on, do it already.”

“Impatient,” Silva tuts with a smile, then indulging James and enters him slowly, sliding slowly to the hilt before pausing, waiting until James relaxes, but he doesn’t.

“Oh fuck it hurts!” James buries his nails in Silva’s neck, then drags them down, scratching him deeply. Silva pulls him up at his hips, changing his angle. James tries to say something, but can only moan.

The blond drops his head, his hair falling in front of his face. “What?”

“Yes…”

“Better?”

“Mmm,” James grins widely, moving against him, urging him to go on. Silva bares his teeth in a half growl-half grin and slides out halfway, starting a slow and steady rhythm. James feels his cock leaking against his stomach and pulls the blond closer, growling and demanding “more.”

Silva’s pace fastens, the muscles in his neck and shoulders tensing when James buries his nails into them again. “More, more, more,” and Silva gives more, groaning as James wraps his legs tighter around his waist.

James looks up and gasps, “don’t forget to kill me at the end.”

Silva fucks into him hard one time, causing James to growl loudly, and then he leans down and whispers rather loudly, “I might just have to.”

James pulls him closer. “Mm harder,” he blurts out and he tries to move against him. The blond deepens his thrusts, and shudders when James hisses, “yes, yes, yes,” but cannot stop a soft yelp from escaping his mouth.

“Do I… need to… slow it down?” Silva moans between thrusts.

“I’ll kill you if you do!” is James’ loud reply. The pleasure running through his veins, through his nerves, everywhere, heats him up, makes him shiver and makes him utter sounds he didn’t know he could make. It’s almost too much but then it’s perfect and Silva’s so controlling, and so strong in his hands and he already knows that anything else will never be able to suffice.

“Do it,” James suddenly says, “lose control.”

Silva tenses, his strong hands pulling James’ ass up and he gives everything he has, fucking into the tight heat with wild abandon and when he’s about to start screaming as the conflict in his head is about to take over everything, James comes against with a loud moan, jerking back and forth. Silva gives everything he has in a last couple of thrusts before reaching his climax and collapsing on James with a groan, his troubles leaving him together with his lust as he relaxes against the warm body under him.

When he wants to pull himself out, James’ arms wind around him and he mumbles “wait,” into Silva’s hair. “You feel so good,” he whispers, with delirious eyes and Silva mindlessly thrusts a couple of times, slowly, gently, before James lets him go and his hands fall on the bed. Silva pulls himself out with a sigh and buries his face in the crook of James’ shoulder.

Silva starts rubbing James’ right shoulder, pressing tiny kisses over his throat.

James breaks through his reverie when he mutters, “so…”

He clears his throat and continues, “what now, do you… mmm,” and he widens his eyes meaningfully.

Silva leans away from him with dark eyes and his hands start creeping up, and he tightly wraps his fingers around James’ neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I think there will be one more chapter. Already thanks for hanging in there and still reading my shit, I love you guys <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which whiskey is consumed and deals are made.

**Chapter 4**

James tenses, his first reflex to pull the pressing fingers on his neck away, but then Silva relaxes and he bows down to whisper in his ear, “did you have time to think on our deal?”

Laughing softly, James relaxes as well and says, “mmm, I was a bit… occupied.” He looks up at Silva blissfully, who chuckles and responds, “well, do you want to claim your award, or…?” With these last words, the blond tightens his grip a little around James’ neck, so it’s bearable but not comfortable.

“My award?” James raises one eyebrow. “You mean I won?” His eyes glint with laughter as he curls his body up against Silva.

“Only if you’re going to trade.”

“Kiss me,” James says with darkening eyes. Silva sighs before leaning in, his grip around James’ throat relaxing.

James winds a strand of blond hair on his finger before kissing him deeply, and Silva responds by deepening the kiss and sliding one hand up to cup his face.

“I swear I don’t mind,” James mumbles, kissing back, licking at Silva’s lips.

The blond breaks away to look at him, with a confused look in his eyes.

“Mmm?” James asks.

“You don’t mind… what?”

“I… didn’t know I said it out loud,” James answers with widening eyes.

Silva responds with a soft voice. “You did.”

“I,” he looks down at the hand at his throat briefly before his eyes flicker back up, “just thought… I wouldn’t mind much. If you actually did it right now.”

Silva jerks his hands away from him, leaning back as far as he can, his eyes dark and betraying hurt.

James continues, mumbling, “I think I was waiting for someone like you.”

The pain is clear in his voice as the blond responds, “so now that I gave you what you wanted you are good to go?”

“You don’t get it.” James sits up slightly, resting his hands on Silva’s shoulders. “I… think I was waiting for you. If you killed me now I wouldn’t care. I found you. Well,” he adds after a pause, “you found me since you’re a control freak.” He rolls his eyes.

Silva just stares back. “Waiting for me, but content to die now? No, I _don’t_ get it.”

“So that you won’t leave.”

At these words, Silva is taken aback. He licks his lips insecurely, eyes shooting from left to right and back. He needs an answer, now. So he dares to ask, “so you’re going to take the offer?”

James leans back on the bed. “Yes. On one condition.”

Silva already leans forward, lips hovering above the other man’s. He nods.

“If you go there,” James looks at the blond intently, “they will kill you. And I can’t let that happen.”

“That’s not a condition.”

“You can’t leave me.” Sadness flashes briefly in his bright blue eyes. “Not even for your precious vendetta. You’re mine now.”

Silva is conflicted. Fifteen years of planning, for… what? What? Would he give it up for this? Something he has always craved, always denied himself? He thought himself too unworthy to allow himself someone to call _his_. And now, gift-wrapped and with a pretty ribbon around it, the opportunity was presented to him.

In utter indecision, he calls out to James. “You can’t ask that of me.”

“I give it up, you give it up.”

The blond dips his head, breathing heavily.

“They will kill you. You know that,” James says, brushing his hand through the blond strands.

Silva shakes his head with closed eyes and mumbles something to himself, before he snaps open his eyes and locks them with James’. “All right. On one condition.”

James grins lightly, “what is it then?”

The blond strokes his cheek. “You’re not going away either.”

James smiles up at him and leans up to steal a kiss. “How do we seal this thing then? Should we draw blood or something?” He shoots Silva a mischievous look.

“Let’s drown our past… Throw our guns into the ocean?”

“Let’s drown it in whiskey,” James laughs while stretching leisurely against Silva.

A smile tugs on the blond’s lips as he says, “not a man of ceremonies then.”

James pouts slightly, “oh no, are you willing to retract the deal now?” before he bursts out laughing.

“Absolutely. Not.” Silva kisses him, pushing him down and locks their mouths. James moans into it, opening his mouth wider. The blond roughly bites his lips and makes him grunt, deepening the kiss as much as he can.

Silva leans back when he’s seeing sparks, breathing heavily. He stands up and walks to a liquor closet in the corner of the bedroom.

The other man eyes him curiously, before he sees the blond pulling out a bottle of scotch and two glasses. “Oh finally.”

Silva returns to the bed, putting the drink on the drawer next to the bed.

“Did you know it’s late evening in London?” James grins while grabbing the bottle. “Mmm. My favourite year too.”

“Give that back,” Silva tuts, leaning over James face to reach for the bottle. James leans back in response and says, “I’ll trade it.”

Silva’s eyes narrow and James adds as an afterthought, “I think I’m getting into this exchange thing.”

The blond places his hands on James’ chest and theatrically pushes him away, rolling his eyes, while he drags out, “what did I start?!”

James laughs softly, kindly. “Tell me, how was it.”

Silva’s response is without emotion, his face a blank. “Best sex in years.”

“But that’s not an answer.” James raises an eyebrow, demanding to _know_ the blond’s true feelings. They made a deal, after all. He brushes against Silva’s neck, softly massaging the tense muscles there.

The blond almost instantly relaxes and sighs. “Glorious.”

James kisses him and while he’s distracted, Silva snatches the bottle back out of his hand and takes a swig.

“Oh no, what about the glasses?” James raises eyebrows theatrically.

Silva falls back onto the mattress, sticking his arm out with the bottle in his hand. “Here then, use them.”

“No.” James mimics him, taking a big gulp, eyes squinting as the liquor warms his throat. “Hmm.”

“I still haven’t told you my name,” Silva suddenly says.

James turns, the bottle forgotten in his hand. “No, you haven’t,” he says carefully, slowly.

“Do you have anything to trade?” the blond grins.

James gives him a brief eye roll, before narrowing his eyes. “Ask me one question then. Whatever you want.”

“Hmm.” Silva drums his fingers on his own chest while James takes another swig from the Macallan and passes it to the man comfortably lying against him. He takes it and sits up for a moment to take a gulp.

In a moment of weakness, for which he would later hate himself, Silva says, “say what I want to hear.”

James eyes widen. “Like what?”

“You know it.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Use that brain of yours, you said you had one,” Silva quotes back at him.

James furrows his brow for a moment before his eyes clear up, sparkling dangerously. “Is it the three-word thing?”

Silva grunts loudly. “The three-word thing. What a romantic.” He lets himself fall back onto the bed again.

James reaches for the bottle and grins. “Is it?”

Silva keeps the scotch out of his reach. “Maybe.”

“Well, technically it is only our first date.”

The blond throws his arm over eyes. “ _Dios mio_ , what do they teach you in England.” James leans on top of him, grabbing the arm from his face and he licks the blond lips, savoring the taste of the whiskey and the man’s natural sweetness. “Urgh,” is the sound he elicits from the blond, who tries to look away but James grabs his chin.

“I…” James’ voice trails off for a moment. “I don’t think I can live without you now,” he says slowly with a hoarse voice.

Silva looks into his eyes and then tugs him down for a quick kiss. “Thank you.” James’ mouth opens automatically with a soft moan. Silva chuckles against his lips, but is stopped dead when James says, “your turn.”

The blond’s face turns serious within a millisecond.

“You don’t have to,” James says with uncertainty in his voice.

“No, I… just…” He sighs.

“What?”

“Tiago Rodriguez.” He takes a deep breath. “It means… James.”

“Tiagooo,” James drags the vowels out. “Mmm Tiago. Should’ve said it earlier,” he whispers while he leans closer to Silva’s ear.

“Do I now?”

“Well, I could’ve… you know.”

“Yes?” Silva asks with a dragging voice.

James responds softly, moaning, “Tiago, Tiagooo… Harder… Tiago.”

Silva’s breath catches in his throat and James wipes the incredulous look off of his face with a kiss. Silva then grins, humoured.

“It’s a beautiful name.”

“Thank you,” the blond smiles.

“I can’t believe it means James. It sounds nothing like James. Can you imagine? If I was Tiago Bond?”

Silva laughs softly.

“Although… it actually sounds good. Maybe you should take my name then,” James says with innocent eyes.

“Hmm, or James Rodriguez.”

“Oh no,” James laughs, but then thinks about it again when he sees the way Silva looks at him. “Mmm actually…”

He brushes against Silva’s chest. “I think I’m going to call you Mr Rodriguez. Except in bed.” His eyes flicker back up to Silva’s face.

“Please don’t,” the blond whimpers with hurt eyes. “Everyone calls me mister. I don’t want you to call me that.”

“Well fuck them. Tiago is only for me,” James whispers.

“So call me that then. Please.”

James leans to his ear, whispering hotly, “Tiago, Tiago.”

Silva groans at that but stops breathing when James, almost inaudibly, whispers, “I love you Tiago.” He hides his face in Silva’s neck, but he leans back to look James in the eyes. James looks down, away, everywhere but in those dark eyes. So the blond cradles his face in his hands and ignores James’ protesting “urgh” and they stare into each other’s eyes.

“Te amo, James.”

There are flashes of… something, in those huge blue eyes, and James moans softly. The blond leans forward and licks James’ lips and of course, he opens his mouth willingly as he mumbles something.

Silva leans back. “Stop mumbling, what did you say?”

James’ hand brushes against the forgotten bottle on the nightstand and he tugs it down towards them, but he accidentally knocks it over. “Oh fuck,” he jumps as the whiskey splashes over them before he can grab the bottle.

The blond grabs his hands to steady them. “That was fucking expensive.”

“What a waste of good scotch. Unless,” James mutters mischievously, and he raises Silva’s wet arm to his lips, licking the whiskey from his skin.

Silva jerks his arm back, despite the shivers that shot through his spine down to his groin, and he demands, “what did you mumble?”

James needs a moment to think, but then says, “oh. I was just thinking, you drive me crazy. It’s like… I want everything at once.”

“You can have it,” Silva says, looking down before he looks back up with glowing eyes.

“Mmm, I want to show you,” James starts, and he grabs Silva’s hand and presses a finger against his own wrist. “Now kiss me.”

A wide grin spreads on Silva’s face and he counts his heartbeat for then seconds, then moves towards James’ lips. James opens his mouth willingly, moaning softly.

The blond’s brow is furrowed in concentration and he breaks away after a short while.

“Well?” James asks.

“Decent,” Silva smiles.

“Decent?” Flashing blue eyes.

Silva opens his mouth a tiny bit, his voice barely audible. His lips form a perfect ‘o’ as he whispers, “more.”

James leans in and kisses him hard, his tongue searching everywhere. Silva’s hips jerk forward and he loudly groans and kisses him back enthusiastically. After a long moment he breaks away.

James’ eyes open lazily.

“That’s better, that’ll do.”

“How much,” James wants to know.

“110.”

James grins. “Mmm, you drive me insane.”

The blond hums and presses the other man’s fingers against his carotid with wide eyes, and James immediately leans in and bites his neck, making him gasp, before licking the bites and licking a way up, nipping at his bottom lip.

He then kisses him softly.

“Wow.”

Silva grunts when James breaks away. “How much?”

“How are you even alive?”

“Tell me,” Silva growls.

“I think I lost count at some point, but it’s definitely over 120.”

They grin at each other.

“You could be on the treadmill, have you checked your heart recently?”

Silva pushes him away. “Oh shut it. Mr Alcoholic. I think I might be in better condition than you,” he teases.

James gives him an eye roll, “after today, surely.”

“Are you able to walk?” Silva chuckles.

A flash of beautiful anger in James’ eyes, his pride hurt for a moment, but then he grins slowly, ferociously. “I haven’t tried.”

“Well, you don’t have to.”

“What, going to carry me?”

“Or drag you.”

“I’m fine.” James’ voice is louder than intended. “But,” he looks down briefly.

“But what?”

James raises a hand, licking the liquor off absent-mindedly. “Well I can still feel it.”

Silva starts chuckling but has to bite his lips when James growls, “don’t you dare laugh.”

He holds it for a moment but then bursts out in howling laughter and James buries his face in the blond’s neck.

“Well fuck you too,” he mumbles before Silva puts his arms around him and pulls him close, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it’s done. Thank you very much all for your patience and hanging in there. I’m so glad to see there are still people reading this pairing! Cheers, jamesraoulsilva

**Author's Note:**

> Will probably end up at some 5 chapters, all about this long.


End file.
